


Her

by StarryNox



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: F/M, at the very least it's technically not canon non-compliant....., i also tried to make this completely canon compliant?? we'll see, it's kind of a...filling in scenes sort of thing??, so like...some stuff that happens offscreen and some introspection on scenes from the game, this will probably be...extremely alm centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-03-08 19:05:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13464615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryNox/pseuds/StarryNox
Summary: "Geez, would it kill you to say something? I feel like I'm talking to a training dummy." She glares at him-the most he's gotten out of her yet."Are you always such an insensitive clod?" she demands, her voice stronger and more forceful than he expected. "I don't know why Grandpapa decided to make me spend time with a…with a boor like you!" He scowls.





	1. Chapter 1

He is seven, when he first meets the girl with bright red hair and soot stains upon her dress. Grandfather says that her name is Celica, and that she will be living with them from now on. Alm isn't sure how to feel about it-she's around his age, but he doesn't know any other girls his age aside from Faye. And Celica doesn't seem very much like Faye-not when she clings to Grandfather's hand so tightly that it seems like it's the only thing keeping on her feet and her gaze trained firmly on the ground. She barely looks up when Grandfather introduces him in turn, and Alm frowns. He's not sure he'll be able to be friends with this girl.

"Alm, why don't you show Celica around the village?" Alm wrinkles his nose. 

"Do I have to? I was gonna go play with Gray and Tobin." The look he receives in return is stern. 

"You can play with them later-you can introduce Celica to them, too. I'm afraid I have some things to attend to." Alm nods, trying not to look too put out by the delay. He's sure Tobin and Gray will understand, but he really doesn't know what to make of Celica, who eyes him now with a guarded expression. 

"Well, uh, come on then." He holds out a hand for her to take, but she crosses her arms firmly as she comes to stand beside him. Well then. He glances up at Grandfather for reassurance, but Grandfather only pats them both on the head before disappearing into the house. "Are you hungry? We could stop by the bakery first." Celica shook her head. "Okay, well, this is our place. There's not much but forest out here-oh, and the fields are that way. There's not a lot to see, honestly. The rest of the village is over there."

The rest of the afternoon is exceedingly awkward, with Alm trying to show off their sleepy little village to a sullen, silent companion. 

"Geez, would it kill you to say something? I feel like I'm talking to a training dummy." She glares at him-the most he's gotten out of her yet. 

"Are you always such an insensitive clod?" she demands, her voice stronger and more forceful than he expected. "I don't know why Grandpapa decided to make me spend time with a…with a boor like you!" He scowls.

"Well, fine. I'm going to go find Gray and Tobin, then." He crosses his arms and walks off in a huff, leaving Celica to make her way home by herself.

Grandfather sits him down after supper and explains, gently, that Celica is here because her family died in a tragic accident just days before. He remembers his earlier words and winces. 

He apologizes before he goes to bed, but he doesn't get anything more than a nod from the girl. He guesses it's better than nothing.

 

She doesn't talk to him after that. But then again, she doesn't seem to talk to anyone. She locks herself into her room, and when he sees her, her eyes are usually red and puffy. It's like she's just…there, and Alm doesn't know what to make of it.

"She'll come around eventually," Gray says with an easy shrug of his shoulders. The words do little to reassure him.

"Maybe you should leave her alone for a while," Faye suggests. He shrugs, but he knows he can't do that, either. So he does the next best thing-or at least, what he thinks is the next best thing. Maybe Celica isn't ready to go back out into the village. In that case, he'll just bring the village to her. 

He brings her fresh pastries from the bakery, cycling through which ones he can afford with his allowance until he figures out which ones she likes the best. He brings her storybooks, which end up going unread until he starts reading them aloud to her before bed. When he and his friends go out to play in the flower fields by the woods, he brings back a handful which end up in a small vase on her windowsill. 

Slowly, she starts to smile. It's a sad sort of smile, one that doesn't make her eyes crinkle the way Faye's do when she smiles, but it's something. Grandfather smiles and ruffles his hair when he tells him, and says that he should keep doing what he's been doing. Still, he feels like he's not doing anything at all. 

 

It's nearly two years after her arrival in Ram Village that Celica begins to come out of her shell. It starts small. Celica tears the pastries he brings in half and presses one piece into his hands. She starts leaning over his shoulder when he reads the stories of Duma and Mila at her bedside. She even meets Gray, Tobin, Kliff, and Faye, and Alm is relieved to see that they seem to get along all right from the beginning. She makes friends with Faye-a friendship that looks a lot like Faye chattering away as Celica just listens, but both girls seem happy, so it's fine. She borrows books from Kliff and wrinkles her nose at Gray's antics, and as the months pass he thinks she might be able to call Ram Village home.

Yet they always, always make time for just the two of them, like today. They've returned to the field that's become one of her favorite places in the village. She plops down and begins working on…something. He's not sure what it is until she calls him over. 

"Put it on!" 

"No way!" He ducks out of her reach before she can place the wreath onto his head, and she pouts. 

"I think it'd make you look very handsome."

"I think you mean 'very stupid,'" he shoots back, crossing his arms. "Boys don't wear wreaths." At ten years old, he's quite certain of this fact. Besides, how would he wear such a thing when he's practicing swordplay with Grandfather?

"Don't call it stupid!" She pouts at him. "Fine. Maybe I'll just give it to Grandpapa instead."

"You're kidding, right?" 

"Grandpapa knows a manly wreath when he sees one…unlike some boys," Celica replies with a mockingly haughty tone, but the façade quickly dissolves into giggles. 

"Very funny," he says dryly. The idea of Grandfather wearing a wreath of flowers on his head is so strange. Though there's no army base near Ram Village, he wears his armor more often than not, and while they're all quite fond of his Grandfather, they all know he is not someone you wish to make angry. But really, doesn't that make the image kind of funny? 

"You're picturing him wearing it-admit it!" Only then does he really let himself try to see it, and it isn't long before he's laughing at the thought. "There's the smile I was looking for!" She beams at him, and the sight alone startles him out of his laughter. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," he replies quickly with a shake of his head. "I'm just…I'm glad you cheered up, is all. When you first came to the village, you wore such a dark expression…and you never spoke a word, either! Grandfather told me to be nice, but I wasn't sure how to make things better." 

"Well…I think you did just fine." 

"I didn't do anything special," he protests. He thinks he did a pretty poor job of it, if he's being honest. 

"Or maybe you did. Anyway, I'm sorry that my first words to you were so unkind." It's the first time she's given him a proper apology for that, now that he thinks about it, but he's long put that behind him. 

"Are you talking about when you called me a boor or a clod?" he asks, grinning as she buries her face into her hands. 

"I still don't understand why you're so nice to me, Alm." 

"Do I need a reason?" She gives him a look, and so he scrambles to find an answer. He's not even entirely sure of what he's saying when his eyes land upon the marking upon the palm of her hand. He's got no idea what it-or his own-means, but he latches onto it anyway. 

"See? We have the same mark. That makes us close! Doesn't it?" Years later, he would wonder how on earth that conclusion made sense. But she giggles and agrees, and they're midway through a promise to be together always when the sound of Faye's screams have them scrambling back towards the forest, the flower wreath long forgotten. 

He's ten, when he chases after Grandfather's horse to say goodbye the morning after their skirmish with a lone knight. Once Grandfather takes her away from the village, he goes back to the field. The wreath is a bit crumpled, having been left overnight and handled a little roughly, but he puts it on his head anyway, as if it might bring her back. 

He falls asleep that night in an empty home, the good-luck charm she'd pressed into his hands tucked against his heart. Grandfather never says where he took Celica, no matter how much he begs.

Ram Village seems so much duller without her.


	2. Chapter 2

He stands on the balcony of Zofia Castle long after the people and their cheers have trickled away. It’s strange to think about. He’s still not entirely sure why Clive has made _him_ the leader of the Deliverance, if he’s being entirely honest. Sir Mycen’s grandson he may be, but the only battles he’s fought are the ones that he had to fight to stand here now. What does he know about leading an army or being a hero? Soon, he will leave to lead the Deliverance in a campaign to push Rigel’s forces back across the border. The thought terrifies him as much as it excites him. So many people are counting on him, and he doesn’t know if he can live up to it all. But he does wish to see Zofia free of her invaders, and so he tightens his grip upon the railing and vows that he _will_ see this through, no matter what it takes.

He barely has time to turn around at the sound of footsteps before he’s knocked back into a crate of oranges. The oranges spill everywhere, but he hardly notices over the sound of laughter, and when he manages to crack open his eyes he’s greeted with the sight of familiar red hair and the face of the girl he’s longed to see more than anyone else.

“It’s really you!” Ten years have changed her voice, but when combined with the color of her hair, he recognizes her in an instant. He wonders if he’s hallucinating as she presses herself into his worn chest plate.

“Celica?!” He’s almost afraid to touch her, as if she’ll vanish the instant he does, but it isn’t long before he has his arms wrapped tight around her and he’s burying his nose into the crown of her head. He’s missed her far more than he thinks he has any right to—they were friends, really, for only a year before she was whisked away from their village, and he hasn’t so much as written her since. But she’s here, she’s really here, and what’s more, she’s missed him, too. He dares to hope that she’s missed him as much as he’s missed her.

She’s radiant, as she describes her journey from Novis to the castle, and though he can see the scratches on her armor, he can hardly imagine her leading a small party against pirates and Necrodragons. Even so, he feels, for just a moment, like they’d never been separated.

But then she speaks of a way aside from war, and his stomach churns. In truth, he’s wondered the same thing. Can’t some sort of accord be reached? But at the same time, he knows what he’s seen. He’s certain that the time for peace talks has long past.

“But why do _you_ have to lead this rebellion? Mycen’s grandson or no, you’re neither knight nor noble. So why make yourself a target like this?!”

“…If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I was speaking to a blue blood.” For no matter how he claims that it’s all right, Fernand’s words have rattled him, and he knows, too, that there’s no real reason he should be leading the Deliverance, and the only reason he does is because Clive saw something in him that he can’t even pinpoint.

Celica recoils as if she’s been slapped, but he presses on until she calls him a jerk and storms away from the balcony. He grimaces, running a hand through his hair. He had so much he wanted to say, yet so little of it was actually said. And now, she’s angry.

He doesn’t follow her—he wants to, but he doesn’t know what he would say. So he watches from inside the castle as she leads her group towards the east, and he prays that he’ll have a chance to make things right someday.

“Let’s be on our way.” Tobin protests, and Alm nearly smiles, knowing how much his friends care. Though the others don’t say anything, he can see the worry written all over Faye’s features, and even Kliff seems uncomfortable with the idea of parting with Celica without making amends. But he shakes his head, firm.  This is the burden of a leader—to set his own wants aside for the good of the people in his care.

It doesn’t make his heart hurt any less, especially when he learns that a rockslide has devastated the roads just east of the castle. His friends don’t say a word to him, about that. They know as well as he that he might never see her again. He’ll just have to believe that she’s all right.

And yet, he regrets letting her go. So when Luthier approaches them in a rundown village in northwestern Zofia, desperate to save his sister Delthea, he lets him come along without a second thought.

 

* * *

 

 

“Fine work there, rescuing the maiden as you did.” Clive’s expression is almost amused, and Alm can’t help but grin back despite his exhaustion. 

“What’s this?” he can’t help but tease. “Are you maybe, possibly admitting that I did the right thing?” For though Clive has never outright blocked Alm’s commands, he certainly has done his share of questioning. Still, he thinks he and the knight have become close enough that such teasing will be taken in stride, and indeed, Clive chuckles before offering a reply of his own. 

“I am as shocked as you. It appears you are more fit to be king than I will ever be.”

“Oh no. Don’t _you_ start!” For it is the third time that someone has said something of the sort, and each time it feels just as bitter as when Celica hurled it as an accusation back at Zofia Castle. He does not want to be king. But before he can protest further, Clive holds up a hand.

“Unlike you, Alm, I have been too willing to put people’s lives on the line. I stand by my belief that a commander must put reason before emotion. But failing to rescue Mathilda or my sister was cowardice, not reason. The truth is, I chose not to act for fear it would undermine my authority.”

“Stop it, Clive. You’re no craven.” Or else so is he—he did the same thing, did he not?

“Aren’t I? Just look at what you did in my stead. I criticized you roundly for diverting our army to save one person. But you did it anyway because you have something I do not—strength of heart. You understand what is precious and fight for it no matter the cost.”

Alm can only look away uncomfortably at the praise. If Clive notices, he doesn’t say a word.

 

* * *

 

 

They send a messenger to Emperor Rudolf, petitioning for an end of the war and the withdrawal of Rigelian troops from Zofian soil, the moment that the Sluice Gate opens. They’d had plenty of time to draft a proper letter (among other things), as they’d had to wait several weeks for the gate to open. And yet it’s the gatekeeper’s offhand words that stay with him most of all.

“Only members of the Zofian royal family can open the sluice at the temple,” he’d said.

“Anthiese…” The name feels foreign on his tongue. He doesn't know what to think of it.

“Makes you wonder what else we don’t know,” Gray mentions. “What? Don’t look at me like that. You’ve gotta be wondering the same thing.” Alm can’t deny it. “It’s been seven years. I know I said you should patch things up with Celica before we left Zofia Castle, and all, but…you have to admit. Things change.” But even so, Alm knows he can’t let go. He remembers so clearly, how he’d thought her smile the prettiest thing in the world. And he remembers, too, the way it felt to hold her after so many years apart. “Er…not that I’m saying you should move on, or anything.”

“Don’t worry, Gray. I get it.” He shoots his old friend a little smile. “You’re right—things _have_ changed, even if the way I feel about her hasn’t.” He flushes as Gray waggles his eyebrows, the implications clear. “Don’t give me that look. She’s still your friend, too.”

“Well, yeah,” Gray says with a shrug and a laugh. But they both know that wasn’t exactly what he had in mind.


	3. Chapter 3

He touches the charm she'd given him, all those years to go. He can scarcely believe that he's still alive, for all his determination not to give up before he sees her again. Those ghostly hands-he isn't sure what they were, yet his desperate pleas to her had worked better than any prayer to the Earth Mother. The pendant is warm underneath his fingertips, and he smiles. He doesn't know if it was really her who came to their aid, or just some latent magic within the pendant (though, he recalls, she'd been quite skilled with her spells even as a child). Perhaps it's silly to take the charm as any proof of anything, but he still thinks of it as a sign-a sign that things between them can and will be fixed, and that perhaps Celica regrets their harsh words just as much as he.

"Thank you, Celica," he whispers, pressing the cool stone to his lips before tucking it back underneath his armor. He straightens his shoulders and faces his army. He can dwell on the exact nature of the pendant later on. Right now, he has people to lead.

 

* * *

 

 

He's discussing their next move with Clive when he hears her voice, calling his name. Though he knows that it's unlikely, if not downright impossible, for her to be so close, he finds himself twisting around in search of the source, as if a miracle might really happen once again.

"What is it, Alm?" Clive watches him with an expression of concern, and Alm frowns.

"This is going to sound crazy, but I thought I heard Celica." When Clive replies that he hadn't heard a thing, Alm begins to wonder if he's just imagining things. But as soon as he's convinced himself, he hears it again. "Celica?! Where are you?" There must be a reason he can hear her voice, even if he doesn't know of one. His feet move on sheer instinct, and he barely acknowledges Clive's cry from behind him. He pushes his way through the underbrush, trying his best to remember just wear her voice had come from.

"Alm, I'm so glad you've come!" He reaches out for her, noting just before his fingers slip through her image that he can see the trees faintly through her.

"Is this…an illusion?" Had she learned to project her image so far? He's glad to see that she looks unharmed-she'd made it safely past the rockslides after all. He wants to reach out and touch her, but he keeps his hands close to his sides.

"Yes, it is," Celica says, her expression growing troubled. "Alm, I'm being held prisoner in Nuibaba's abode." His blood runs cold. Hadn't Lukas mentioned a Nuibaba just before? Regardless, he has seen firsthand how the Zofian people have suffered at the hands of Rigelians, and if Celica really is the lost princess, he doubts that she'll be any safer.

"Are you hurt?"

"Help me, Alm." She doesn't answer his question. "I have faith…I know you'll come for me." She smiles. "I'm waiting for you." And then, she begins to vanish.

"Don't go!" He lurches forward, his hand stretching out as if it might keep her illusion in place, but she disintegrates from his view just in time for the others to catch up. He balls his hand into a fist. "Damn it!"

"Alm? Alm, are you okay?" Faye asks, worried. "Sir Clive told us what happened. Was it really Celica?"

"I don't know," he says with a clipped tone. It could be a trap, he knows it, and yet...what if it really is her? He's nearly lost her twice, and he knows he can't bare the possibility of losing her for good. "It could be a trap."

"Well…we should go for her, shouldn't we?" Faye asks before biting her lip. "Even if there's a chance she's not there. You'll regret it, if we don't. And I know we will, too." Gray, Kliff, and Tobin nod their heads in agreement. "Besides, Lukas said that it might be worth heading that way anyway, didn't he?"

"You're right, Faye." He turns towards the others, his expression unapologetic. "To Fear Mountain, everyone."

Even if she isn't there, he knows he's doing the right thing.

 

* * *

 

 

"Zeke! Oh, Zeke, I've missed you." The saint they rescued from Nuibaba's Abode all but throws herself into the general's arms, and he holds her tightly in return, pressing his nose into her hair as if he can hardly believe she's here. Alm supposes he can't blame the man-if Celica were to appear here, he would be much inclined to do the same, even if he's not sure she'd appreciate the gesture nearly as much. Grateful as he was to learn that Celica was not one of Nuibaba's prisoners, he can't help but wish that he'd gotten a chance to see her all the same.

The thought of her makes his heart heavy, but still he plasters a smile onto his face. Tatiana, despite her initial misgivings, had been wonderfully kind despite the rather unkind murmurings he'd heard around camp, and he's genuinely happy for her. And after hearing her speak so highly of her beloved, he can't help but be glad for General Ezekiel as well.

It will be a shame, if they have to leave the two of them behind. General Ezekiel offers Tatiana a hand so that she can ride with him, and Alm knows that if he decides to remain in the village to which they're headed, so will she. They could use another healer, and just seeing the general in action makes him extremely grateful that they didn't have to face him. But as General Ezekiel explains his past (or lack thereof), Alm knows he can't blame them for wanting to stay behind.

It just makes it all the more baffling when the general catches a glimpse upon the strange mark upon Alm's hand and insists that he come along, Tatiana following suit before either of them have a chance to ask. It's why he gives only the mildest of protests when Gray suggests that their matching brands, something he'd nearly forgotten about, might mean something more.

"Sheesh, man. You're really starting to worry me here. If you don't laugh it off, it makes me sound like a lunatic for saying it," Gray grumbles.

"Sorry. You're right," Alm replies with a small laugh. "I'm not sure about the rest of it, but me and Celica meeting really could be fate…I'd like to believe it is, at any rate." Because if it's fate that they first met, then perhaps fate will bring them back together for a third time-and with any luck, it will be for good.

 

* * *

 

"Alm…" This time, he's near certain it's an illusion-it happened once, hadn't it?-or maybe even just a hallucination, but even so, hope swells in his chest. He's glad that he's alone, lest someone think him crazy, and when he sees nothing out of the ordinary he wonders if it's just his mind playing tricks on him. "Alm, it's me. It's Celica!" A cool breeze ruffles his hair, and he turns, his brow furrowing.

"Celica? How are you here? Actually, where are you? Come out already!" If it really is her, she'll appear before him when he asks, won't she? And she does, her smiling face appearing in a swirl of warm light. Her expression brightens when their gaze meet, a smile he thought he'd never see again tugging at her lips as she reaches for him. "Is this…just an illusion? Is it really you?" He can see the lines of his own armor through her fingers, but he swears he can feel the warmth of her touch.

"Yes, it's me. Sage Halcyon's magic is allowing me to speak with you. Oh, I've missed you so much!" Tears well in her eyes and begin to trickle their way down her cheeks, and he aches to brush them away. Alas, they remain in place, untouched despite his efforts.

"I'm happy to see you, too," he breathes, wishing he could pull her close.

"Alm, listen, I…" A sob interrupts her words, and he panics.

"What's wrong? Did something happen? Are things not going as well as you'd hoped? Augh, I wish you were here in person! I don't know what to…." Realizing that it doesn't do either of them any good, he bites his tongue and murmurs, "Please don't cry."

"You're not angry? I said such terrible things back to you at the castle."

"That's been bothering you?" And oh, does he feel terrible about it. He's done his fair share of regretting, but the thought that she has, too, just makes him feel worse. "I mean, sure, I was sad you didn't seem to see my side of things. But I'd never get mad at you." Not for something like this.

"Why not?" She looks at him the way she had all those years ago, when she held a flower crown for grandfather in her hands, and he finds himself resisting (poorly) the urge to smile.

"You sure do like putting me on the spot. Didn't we have a similar conversation years ago?" She laughs, even though it's between sniffles, and wipes her eyes. He's just glad to see her smiling again.

"I suppose we did," she concedes. "You were always so nice to me, while I-While I'm always thinking only of myself. I'm sorry, Alm…" He wants to tell her that it's not true, but there's something about her expression... He frowns.

"What's wrong?" It sounds too much like a goodbye, and he hates it. He hates that he's so far away from her, hates that he can't so much as hold her hand.

"I've finally remembered why I left the island in the first place. I'm going to see Duma." His heart stops.

"No!" He has no right to tell her what she can or cannot do, he knows this, but after facing Nuibaba, there's no way he can just sit back in silence. She smiles sadly at him, and he hates their distance so much more.

"I have to go. Mila wasn't in her temple, Alm."

"What does that mean?" It's bad-he can figure that much out himself, but he's never been particularly devout. But hearing her explanation doesn't make sense-why would the emperor do such a thing?

"I have to free Mila. I'm the only one who can."

"Celica…" He understands, this time, but that doesn't mean he likes it any better. "You're the princess of Zofia, aren't you? Princess Anthiese. That's why you have to go?"

"I guess my secret's out," she says with a laugh that lacks any mirth. He grimaces.

"Now I'm really cringing at what I said to you before. I'm sorry, Celica. I…I promise I'll get your kingdom back. So please, promise me that you won't-"

"It's kind of you, Alm. But I have to-just winning this war isn't enough."

"Why not? We can-" We can find a way around this. We can learn to survive without the Earth Mother. That's what he wants to say, but she shakes her head.

"It'll be clear to you soon. I'll do everything I can here. Please, Alm, just be safe." And then she's fading, fading away from his vision even as he reaches for her, calling her name. As if either of those things might transcend whatever magic the sage is using to let them speak now. There's so much he wants to tell her, and as the last droplets of light disappear from his view, he balls his hand into a fist.

"Damn it!" In the end, there's nothing he can do.

 

 

Several months later, when a pathway that had been closed for days suddenly opens up to reveal the final stretch to Rigel Castle, Alm fears the worst.


	4. Chapter 4

He had to be pulled away from Emperor Rudolf's body, his throat raw and his mind reeling. How can he be Emperor Rudolf's son? The others are asking about him-what happened, why is he grieving? But he can only shake his head in reply-the words won't come even as they make their way into the castle's interior and the remaining soldiers, alive, all of them, snap to attention. 

Tatiana had mentioned once, that he looked awfully Rigelian, but he'd always dismissed it as coincidence. Had denied it as even a possibility, to her face, telling her that it's impossible. She'd given him a strange look when he'd mentioned his grandfather being Sir Mycen, and he supposes he now knows why.

"Welcome home, Prince Albein." He hears the murmurs around him, but all he can focus on is how wrong the name sounds. He's Alm, always has been. He wonders if Celica (Anthiese? He never did ask which one she preferred) ever feels the same way. 

Massena is kind enough, almost a little too much so-Alm has to wonder if he truly bears no resentment over the fact that the emperor is dead. But his expression is apologetic, if anything, as he directs Alm to the throne room, where his grand-Sir Mycen, lies in wait. He should be happy to see him, but right now, all he feels is dread.

"Wait, Alm, what's this guy even talking about?" Gray asks, catching him by the shoulder. Alm grimaces. 

"Alm, please, talk to us," Faye adds, a hand curling at her breast. "You're scaring me." 

"I don't know." His voice sounds hoarse. "Emperor Rudolf…he said that I was his son." He glances towards Zeke, the most grief-stricken man in the room. Zeke meets his gaze and shakes his head. He doesn't know anything, either. Alm doesn't dare to look at anyone else.

"Go," he says, his voice quiet but commanding as ever. "You should see what Sir Mycen has to say." 

"We'll be right here," Tatiana adds from where she stands by his side, her hand clutching the general's. Alm nods, though there's something stiff about the motion. There's that same feeling of…distance, if he has to put a word to it, as he shuffles his feet towards the grand wooden doors and pushes them open. He steps inside, letting them swing shut behind them with a thud that echoes throughout the mostly empty chamber. Gra-Sir Mycen is there, looking exactly the same as Alm last saw him.

"So you've come, Alm." His emotions flood him, the anger and confusion and grief boiling over all at once.

"What the hell is going on?" 

 

He strides out of the throne room with a new sense of purpose, of urgency. He'll sort out his feelings about his entire life being a lie later-right now, Celica is in danger, and he'll be damned if she gets hurt just because he can't process the fact that the emperor's dying wish is in fact his father's. 

"We're going to Duma's Temple," he announces, to nearly everyone's surprise. The battle against Emperor Rudolf had been…easy, in the grand scheme of things, and their casualties were few, but to mobilize again so quickly would normally be unthinkable. "Emperor Rudolf wanted us to bring Duma's madness to its end, and the Duma Faithful with it. There's a passageway from the castle to the temple-we have to hurry." 

It's a miracle that no one questions him, and his heart swells as he watches everyone hasten to prepare for battle once again. 

"A moment, Prince Albein?" Massena asks as he takes a moment to breathe. "I ask that you show Lord Berkut compassion." Right…him being the son of Emperor Rudolf would make Berkut his cousin. He swallows thickly, and nods. 

In a matter of hours, they've deemed themselves as ready as they'll ever be to face down a God, and so into the cavernous passage to the temple they go.

 

This is not how he wanted to see her again, bars between them and Jedah looming over her shoulder, reveling in the fact that she'll soon be ripped away from him once again. 

"If Duma is gone, Rigel's lands will turn as barren as Zofia's have. Even more people will starve." He begins to protest, but she continues, her gaze solemn. "And even if you wanted to stop Duma, you can't." His gaze wanders back to the blade protruding from Mila's forehead. Gods, what is he to do? Is he to fail his father and lose Celica all at once? 

Jedah laughs from behind Celica, and he grits his teeth. There has to be another way-or else what is he even fighting for? What do any of the deaths that have preceded this moment even mean?

Learning that Celica is going to be offered to Duma only makes it worse. 

"Tell me he's lying," he begs. "Tell me you haven't-" 

"I'm sorry, Alm…" Her smile is so sweet and so sad, and his heart is breaking. He clings to her hand, the only part of her he can really touch. 

"I'm going to get you out of here," he promises, even as she explains that it was her choice. "Celica, please…I never would have wanted this for you. You're not to blame-I'm the one who chose this. Celica, please-Celica!" Jedah begins to tug her away, and she doesn't resist. His hands, now empty, curl around the bars separating them. "Celica!" 

"Alm…I don't wish to be vulgar, but…what is the proper course of action for us now?" Clive asks once she's gone. 

"I'm not giving up." Tobin thinks he's crazy, and Alm can understand that. "We're going to take down Duma and bring Celica home safe." He says he feels that what's happening is wrong, and it does, but he can't tell if that's his heartbreak speaking. Either way, he'll be damned if he lets this happen without a fight-not when he can do something about it. 

"Consider your position, Alm," Clive begs. "You are to be Rigel's next emperor. You must set your personal feelings aside, no matter how difficult it may be. All of Valentia depends on you now. That must be steers your decision." 

"Then I decide to follow the will of the previous emperor, Rudolf." He sounds like a petulant child-he's well aware of it-and the exasperated expression on Clive's face only confirms it.

"Oh come on! What's wrong with personal feelings?!" he demands, whirling to face the Deliverance for the first time. "All of you fought this far because you hold some kind of hope for the world. It's man's individual hopes and fears that shape the world. That drive it. And that's how it should be." 

"You're right, of course, but…"

"But nothing! You told me once that I had strength of heart-that I understand what's precious and that I'll fight for it no matter the cost. You've told me that it's a good thing. Are you taking that back now?" He takes a deep breath before he can say something he know he'll regret-like declaring him a craven after all, for deciding that it's only a good thing when the odds aren't so stacked against them. "I don't want to lose anyone else I care about. I don't want to see anyone else lost because of Duma. Don't you feel the same, Clive?" Clive sighs.

"…… Even if we escape from Duma's control, a starving people can know no peace. Villains and thieves will arise to feed on the weakest and most vulnerable. Are you prepared to inflict that upon the world?" 

"I will dedicate my life as emperor to ensuring such a thing doesn't happen. And yes, I know as well as anyone that there will be losses along the way. I think I've learned that much by now… But when I think of the next thousand years, I don't want this. I want to leave behind a world where we shape our lives by our own hands. Where we make our own mistakes and fix them-as many times as necessary. That's a world worthy of a future." The silence in the wake of his words is nerve-wracking, and he realizes, belatedly, that not everyone might agree with his vision. "If you don't want to fight with me here, I understand. I won't make you face Duma. But I'm not going to give up." But Clive shakes his head.

"If you have the determination to see it through, I'll not object. I am yours to command, Your Excellency." As others begin to voice their assent, Alm feels himself relax. He really wouldn't force anyone to face Duma alongside him, but he knows that he'll need everyone's strength if he's to win.

Mila's statuesque form begins to glow, and he's filled with strength anew. 

"Let's go. Mila is calling to me-we can still pull this off. We have to find a way to the altar!"


	5. Chapter 5

He’s beginning to think his trek into the royal vault a waste of time when he sees it—Mila’s skull with Falchion protruding from it. He doesn’t know how it got here, but he’s not going to question it. If he can somehow take Falchion, he really does have a chance, after all. He takes a step towards the fallen Earth Mother, wondering just how he’s going to dislodge the blade from her skull, when he hears footsteps.

Celica is there. But how? He doesn’t really care—he’s just glad that she’s alive. Or at least, he is until she lunges, a cry that doesn’t sound like her falling from her lips as she takes a swipe at him with her sword. He stumbles back, nearly tripping in the process.

“Celica? Celica, what are you doing?! It’s me!” He receives no response but Jedah’s laughter. The sorcerer steps out from the shadows, his footsteps echoing throughout the room.

“The girl has already offered up her soul to Lord Duma. What you see now is a husk. A witch. A puppet loyal to the dark god’s will!” His stomach turns—he’s seen witches before and has always felt nothing but pity for them. Must he kill her to set her free?

“Celica, please! You have to wake up!” His cries have never done anything before, and a part of him doubts they will do anything now, but he has to try, because what else can he do?

It still hurts that she has no reaction. 

“Go, witch. Offer up your fellow Brand-bearer’s soul to your new master!”

“Her name is _Celica_ ,” Alm hisses through gritted teeth, not caring to hear the rest of Jedah’s speech. Celica brings up her sword and moves to attack him again. He blocks, all the while begging, “Celica, please. Don’t do this!” There’s a flash in her eyes, a change from the deadened, hateful look she’d been wearing before, and he hopes it’s a sign.

“Alm…please…” Her voice sounds strained. “Alm…you have to…”—have to save her, free her, help her— “…stop me before I kill you.” With their blades locked like this, he can see the way she fights, letting Duma control her body as she wrestles for control of her lips and mind. “You know what you have to do.”

 _“Only death can break Duma’s hold over those who have offered up their souls.”_ He’d hated the words then, and he hates them even more now.

“Alm! Do it now. Kill me!” And then the snarl is back, her voice distorting even as her order leaves her lips, and she knocks his blade out of his hands with a strength that isn’t hers.

“Are you crazy?!” he asks, forcing himself back to his feet. “I can’t do that!” Or rather, he won’t.

 _“Hear me, bearer of Duma’s Brand…”_ The voice in his head is unfamiliar, but he trusts it implicitly. _“Trust in Falchion_.” And so he does, his grasp on the blade’s hilt tightening as he rushes forward to meet Celica’s blow.

 

* * *

 

He feels blood stain his tunic, or at least the portion that’s uncovered by armor, and it takes him a moment longer to realize that the blood can’t be his. Her arms are almost around him, like a hug, her blade having traveled harmlessly through the space between his arm and his torso.

Falchion is plunged deep in her abdomen, its glowing blade sprouting through her back. _Oh Gods, what has he done?_

He goes slack at the realization, and without his support, Celica slumps to the ground, her eyes closed. Were it not for the sword buried in her stomach, she would appear to be at peace. He falls to his knees in front of her, gripping her shoulders, shaking her, begging her to say something, begging her to stay with him, begging her to _live_.

 Celica never answers. Her head falls back limply, and he pulls her close, embracing her the way he longed to when she was alive. Even if they do slay Duma, he knows he has failed—failed to keep her safe. Failed to win back her kingdom. Failed her. He had trusted in Falchion, in _Mila_ , and now he had Celica’s blood on his hands. Mila’s skull watches him in silence as he cries.

 

* * *

 

 

A golden light fills the room, pulling Celica out of his arms. She looks holy, with her body glowing and suspended in the air. Falchion rises from her chest, the torn fabric of her dress closing back up as if nothing had ever happened.

Falchion clatters to the ground. The warm glow—literally warm, now that he’s holding her in his arms—begins to fade. Celica’s eyes flutter open, and he knows, without a doubt, that this is the most beautiful sight he will ever see.

“…Alm?” Her voice is hers again, and the sound is so sweet that tears prickle the corners of his eyes. Her expression is soft as he cradles her close, and she wipes away her tears with her thumb before resting the palm of her hand against his cheek. Her touch is warm, but more importantly, it is _real_.

“Thank goodness you’re okay.” His voice is thick with tears and undoubtedly hoarse. “But how?”

“I don’t know either,” she says with a small laugh. “But I heard a voice. A very kind voice. It said everything would be all right, and to have faith in Falchion.” He wants to bury his nose into the crook of her neck, to hold her tightly and savor this moment, but Mila’s voice reminds him of the task at hand.

“We have to save Duma, for her sake and ours.” He sets her back onto her feet, reaching instead for her hand. “This isn’t where things end for us. Even without gods, this world has a long and prosperous future ahead of it.” He squeezes her hand, a smile tugging at his lips as she squeezes right back. “Now, let’s go claim that future together!”

“Right. This ends here and now.” And so they go, hand in hand, to usher in a new era.

 

* * *

 

Gray whistles loudly as they emerge from the vaults, hand in hand, and he’s soon separated from her by the sheer force of Faye leaping towards Celica, wrapping the redhead in her arms and babbling about how glad she is that Celica’s okay, and even Kliff is grinning unabashedly as he allows for a one-armed hug.

In a few moments, they will face the toughest battle of their lives. But right now, as he watches Celica reunite with the others, he thinks himself content.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Duma has been put to rest, and Jedah dealt with. They traipse up from the caverns beneath the temple in a collective state of shock, their victory known but not quite comprehended. The sun is rising, its rays trickling through the castle’s windows. Massena all but leaps to his feet—had he been waiting the entire time?—to greet them, and Alm shoots him what he hopes is a grateful look when he ushers a handful of them towards a makeshift medic ward and the rest of them towards bed.

A part of him aches to remain with Celica just a bit longer, to let his emotions settle from earlier. But she’s yawning, and he can feel his exhaustion deep within his bones, and while they spent many a night in the same bed when they were children, it’s hardly proper now. So he bids her good night and shuffles into his own room, making a cursory note of how grand it is as he shucks his armor, letting it fall onto the plush carpet. He pulls his tunic off over his head, grimacing at the sight of her blood, and crawls into bed, falling asleep as soon as he hits the mattress.

 

 

It doesn’t last long. He startles awake, just managing to cut off a very real yell. The sweat clinging to him feels too much like blood for his liking, so he throws off the covers and bolts for the bathroom. The cold water stings his hands and face, but it forces him into the present, and that’s what really matters.

In the dim light of the candle, he sees that someone had left a folded tunic by a washing basin—as if any of them would have the energy to bathe after slaying a god. The image of Celica with a sword through her chest has left him distinctly unsettled, and so he slips on the clean clothing and finds himself heading for the bedroom door.

It’s inappropriate, he knows, but the fact that Celica is alive is so _unbelievable_ that he finds himself searching for her. Unfortunately, he has no idea which door is hers.

To his luck, another door creaks open as he’s standing in the corridor, and Celica peaks her head out, a lit candle in her hand. Her eyes widen as she catches sight of him, but she smiles tiredly as she comes to join him, and together they end up wandering the halls.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks softly once they’re far enough away that they’re sure they won’t disturb the others.

“Something like that,” he says. “I was…hoping to see you, actually.” Her brow furrows. “I mean, it’s just…” He runs a hand through his hair and grimaces. “I just needed to know you were okay.”

“Oh, Alm…” He sighs.

“Listen, Celica. I know you sacrificed your own life to protect me and the others. But I never wanted that. I couldn’t ever be happy in a world you died to create.” Her mouth falls open in surprise. He supposes he can’t blame her—they haven’t spoken at length in so long, and he’s never been the most forthcoming about his feelings.

“Alm…I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Even in the dim light of her candle, he can see the guilt in her eyes, and he shakes his head quickly. 

“Don’t apologize. You were doing what you thought was right.” And he would never—could never—blame her for that. “Just...know that I need you, all right?” He smiles gently at her, before realizing the strength of his own words. He hopes the candlelight is enough to disguise at least some of his blush. “I mean, all I know how to do is fight whatever’s in front of me. I need your wisdom…and, well, your company, too.”

“Do you really, though?” He can only stare at her in disbelief, only to be met with a melancholy smile. “I never forgot that promise you made to me when we were children, you know. But…we’ve spent so much time apart. I always, _always_ hoped to see you again, but…can we really say that we need each other? We hardly know each other now.”

As much as he hates to admit it, she _does_ have a point.

“There are a lot of things we probably should talk about, yeah,” he concedes, “but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t any less important to me now than you were back then.” Her expression softens.

“Well…since neither of us can sleep, why don’t we start now?”

 

* * *

  

He wakes up the next morning to Celica resting against his shoulder and the man with the eyepatch (Saber?) standing over them both, his arms crossed and expression unamused. 

“Look, kid, I know this place is supposed to be protected and all, but you and the lass shouldn’t be sleeping out in the open.” Alm flushes, feeling like a chastised kid even though he hardly knows the man.

“It’s fine, Saber. Nothing happened to us,” Celica says from beside him, and he glances over just in time to see her stifle a yawn and rub the remnants of sleep from her eyes. “But I’m sorry we worried you. You’re probably right, after all.” Alm nods, clambering up to his feet with a slight grimace—he has no regrets about staying up far longer than he probably should have talking with Celica, filling in almost seven years’ worth of memories, but sleeping propped up against a stone wall on a stone floor is bound to make one stiff. Still, he extends a hand for Celica to take before he stretches. 

“Yeah, well, you can make it up by going and getting something to eat. After that some official wanted to talk to you, kid—Massena, I think his name was?”

“Oh…right.” The main details of what had transpired in the Temple were likely obvious, but he can’t afford to let people just come to their own conclusions. The Deliverance, regardless of their intent, is an invading force, and Alm can only imagine that there are some who are less then pleased about the whole thing. 

“I’ll go with you,” Celica says, squeezing his hand reassuringly. He smiles weakly at her. “You’ll be fine.” He certainly hopes so. Together, they make their way towards the sitting room Sabre directed them to, and Alm can’t help but feel as if Celica is the only thing pushing him forward. 

 

Massena is waiting for them, kind-faced as ever, but clearly in want of answers. Alm pushes away the food in front of him as he recounts what happened to Berkut (his cousin, he has to remind himself) and the poor girl he’d turned into a witch.

“I see.” Massena’s eyes are closed, his expression pained, but he does not doubt Alm’s story, and for that, he is grateful. “We will…have to arrange a funeral, for the emperor and the prince. And for Lady Rinea as well.” 

“Is there anything I can do?” Alm asks. He feels it’s the right thing to do, but he doesn’t know what he has to offer, either.

“I will take care of the arrangements, Prince Albein,” Massena says with a solemn shake of his head. “I imagine you have your work cut out for you. The people will want answers, and while some will stand by you at Emperor Rudolf’s word alone, I’m afraid there will be others who will not.” Alm nods. “I will offer you what assistance I can, but for now….perhaps it is best that you rest.”

They’re left alone in an otherwise empty room, their food growing cold on the table. Alm rests his head in his hands.

“I never wanted to be king.”

“I know.” Celica rests a hand on his back, and he leans into her touch as if it’s the only thing that’s keeping him grounded.


	7. Chapter 7

He stands at the gravesites long after the ceremonies end. His family has been given a proper sendoff in the Dumaist tradition—Sage Halcyon’s version, to be precise—even though there are no gods to offer their blessings and protections for the dead.

“Is it…bad? That I’m angry at him?” he asks quietly. “My father, I mean.”

“I don’t think so,” Celica replies after a moment of thought. It’s something he’s grown to appreciate even more, now that he’s spending more time at her side. “I know I was angry with my father, for a long time.”

“Are you going to take the Zofian throne?” He doesn’t really know why he’s asking, and Celica looks just as startled by the question.

“Conrad doesn’t seem to want it,” she says quietly. “So I guess that leaves me.” She sighs. “I’m not sure how I feel about being Princess Anthiese again.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about being Prince Albein, either.” Her smile is devoid of amusement, but it comforts him all the same. “I guess we’ll have to figure that out, huh?” 

“I like to think that if we focus on the people, it’ll fall into place. It’s just a name, isn’t it? The people won’t care if we’re Alm and Celica or Albein and Anthiese, so long as we bring peace and an end to the famine.” The famine, right. Tatiana would occasionally mention how hard the winters could be, and how her village would annually lose a handful of its already tiny population to starvation. Already, he’s asked for reports on agricultural conditions across Rigel, and from what he can tell so far, it isn’t good.

“Well, we’ve already brought one, sort of.”

“Yes…though I’ll likely have to return to Zofia soon.” He frowns. “I’m sure you saw some of it, Alm. Zofia has languished under my father and Desaix’s rule. We took out some pirates and Grieth, but I’m sure others will be lining up to take their places so long as the people continue to suffer.” 

“I guess it’ll be a good thing you spent that time in Ram, huh?” he can’t help but quip. “You’ll know your way around farm work better than any noble, I’m sure.” That garners a laugh—a real one—from her, and he grins in return. 

“Right. But Alm, you’ll be okay without me here, won’t you?” 

“I’ll manage,” he says. “And you’ll be okay without me, in Zofia?” 

“I’ll manage.”

 

* * *

 

 

Despite her words, she stays a little longer. They spend long nights pouring over farm reports and trade agreements, digging deep into Rigel’s coffers to help finance an economy that has, for the last decade, been driven by war. They comb through the Rigelian army, removing officers like Jerome, much to Zeke’s satisfaction, and promoting local leaders who invest themselves in protecting the people from lingering bandits and leading the restoration efforts, moving slowly away from the capitol and towards the border as they go.

He leaves northwestern Rigel in Massena and Sir Mycen’s hands and appoints the southwest to Zeke and Tatiana. He knows he’ll have to visit the east, but first, he’ll see Celica to the border. They’d sent about half of their number into Zofia to begin the restoration efforts, and now she will join them as their leader.

She hugs him tightly, promising to write, and leaves alongside Boey and Mae. Alm’s not sure he’ll ever get used to their near-constant bickering, but the quiet in their wake unsettles him all the same.

He turns his attention back to Rigel. The suspicious looks turn into weary smiles as he makes good on his promise to be an emperor who picks up a trowel, and though the others sometimes complain that being a soldier prepared them poorly for working in the fields, he sees their smiles as they stand side by side with Rigelian villagers, their faces dirt-stained but proud.

And at night, when he has only the light of a candle for company, he writes.

 

_Dear Celica,_

_We heard you made it back safely to Castle Zofia—how is everything? It feels like it’s been so long since we were there…_

His letters are a mixture of business and leisure—he talks about Gray’s latest attempts to win Clair over in the same breath that he talks about what he’s learning about the Faithful. When he mentions that he misses Zofian oranges, her next letter arrives with a crateful of them, which he gleefully shares with his friends and the villagers with them.

Sometimes he signs his letters as Alm, and sometimes as Albein. He smiles when he realizes she does the same with her names. She writes to him, sometimes complaining about a noble who’d sided with Desaix or, fondly, about some trick Father Nomah played. Other times, her handwriting is shaky from laughter as she recounts an exchange between Boey and Mae.

Sometimes, they talk about how they fear that they aren’t enough, and he thinks that this is the closest he’s ever felt to her, even though she’s hundreds of miles away.

Sometimes, it isn’t enough. It’s rare, now, that he wakes up with sweat dripping down his back and Celica’s name in his throat, the image of her possessed self fresh in his mind. He writes to her then, too, even though he knows she won’t get the letters until long after the fact, but it’s the closest that he has to her presence, and it’s just enough to calm him back down.

Slowly, Rigel gets back on its feet. He’s able to spend more time in the capitol, and even though that means his letters with Celica have farther to travel, the couriers don’t have to waste time chasing him around the countryside to deliver them. He begins to learn court politics and, more importantly, Rigelian custom, and he can’t help but wince each time he realizes he’d inadvertently done something rude. Thankfully, the people are understanding—and if they aren’t, they keep it to themselves—and he soon finds himself only groaning good-naturedly as Gray and Tobin tease him for his past blunders.

He doesn’t anticipate being _particularly_ embarrassed when Celica begins to tease him too, via letter, but he is.

 


	8. Chapter 8

With the hardest part of the rebuilding done, life returns to normal—or as normal as it can be when he’s found himself landed with the task of leading a nation. Tobin and Gray officially join the Rigelian knighthood, their common birth of little hindrance given their experience and Alm’s favor. Clive and Mathilda return to Zofia, and he looks forward to their letters _almost_ as much as he does Celica’s. Kliff departs for Mila-knows-where, and Alm tries not to be too disappointed when his letters trickle to a stop. Zeke departs too, his expression troubled as he explains something about a life he’s left behind and loose ends he must attend to. Alm doesn’t question him too much and grants him leave nonetheless. 

With normalcy, however, comes free time, and without his duties to distract him, he begins to miss her. Rigel Castle seemed more tolerable with Celica around, though he’s sure that her boisterous companions certainly helped, and with his friends spending more time with their fellow knights, he begins to feel lonely.

He tries to ignore it, but one day he finds himself accidentally ending one of his letters, usually just signed with his name, with _Yours, Alm_. His friends think it’s hilarious, but Alm is mortified. Yes, he’s fond of Celica, and _fine_ , he’s fond of her _that way_ too, but there’s a huge difference between acknowledging that to himself when she’s hundreds of miles away and actually making his affections known.

Thankfully, he almost manages to forget about the whole thing. _Almost_ , but then Celica ends her next letter the same way and he finds himself tracing the word with his thumb with a silly grin that makes Gray and Tobin groan in mock-disgust.

Tatiana, of course, is delighted by the whole thing. And then she starts scheming. He knows she’s doing it, because she can’t keep a straight face if it would save her life, but she just smiles at him when he asks what she’s doing and Zeke, oddly, isn’t around, and so he’s just left hoping that it won’t end in embarrassment, the way his birthday had. Oh, it had been sweet of her to throw him a little party of her own, certainly, but he hadn’t had someone fuss over him like that in years.

So in hindsight, he shouldn’t be surprised when she claps her hands together and suggests that they throw a small party to celebrate the three-year anniversary of the war’s end. Alm has a suspicion that the party won’t be small at all, if only because half of their number will be traveling from Zofia, but it’s been a long time since everyone has been in one place, and with Zeke having returned home with scars he has yet to explain, Alm figures that now is as good a time as any.

He’s entirely unprepared to face Celica. He thought he was, but he wasn’t. He’s unprepared for the way peacetime has softened her (if only slightly), for the way her hair has grown and her smiles have become freer. He’s unprepared for the grace with which she carries herself and the way her eyes light up as she catches sight of him, unprepared for the way she calls his name and sprints across the distance between them and flings her arms around him, sending them both toppling backwards with no crates of oranges to catch them this time.

“It’s only been three years this time,” he laughs even as he hugs her tightly. “And we had letters!”

“It’s not the same,” she protests. He agrees. Reading words on a page isn’t the same as having her here, in front of him, with firelight dancing across her hair and in her eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” And he realizes, then, how much he’d rather spend the rest of his days by her side. The thought startles him as much as it leaves him entirely unsurprised. But the truth is, he’s tired of hearing from her only by letter, and he’s tired of imagining her expressions when she reads hers. He’s tired of waiting months for a courier to arrive with her letters, always a bundle of them, and never just one.  And, well, he now has the experience to know that he works better, _is_ better, when he’s at her side. “Hey…Celica?”

“Hm? What is it, Alm?”

“What if we made our two kingdoms into one?” He’s met with a wide-eyed stare, complete with a pretty blush that leaves him puzzled until she asks.

“Are you saying we should get married?” Heat blooms across his cheeks at the question, as he hadn’t really thought about the ramifications of his suggestion until that very moment. And, well, all right, there were some in the Rigelian nobility who were hinting none-too-subtly that he ought to start thinking about marrying and naming an heir, but he hadn’t thought about it. Not really.

“Uh…” It isn’t long until Celica begins to laugh, and he finds himself chuckling along with her. “I didn’t think about that, actually. Can’t we just…share a throne? Without all of that? Not that it would be a _bad_ thing to marry you.”

“It hasn’t been done before.” Celica pauses. “But…then again, we’ve brought in a new era, haven’t we? Why can’t we share a throne? One throne for the one kingdom of Valentia. It sounds nice, doesn’t it?” He nods.

 

* * *

  

Half of the continent is in uproar when they decide to move forward with it, but Alm and Celica are stubborn. Within another year, Alm finds himself moving south for good. He’s grown to love Rigel, yes, but he can’t say that he’s unhappy to leave its frigid winters behind.

Tatiana and Zeke see them to the border, with the former stubbornly claiming she isn’t crying even though she’s wiping her eyes between every bone-crushing hug. Massena wishes him well, and Alm realizes he’s actually going to miss his father’s advisor.

Celica, in turn, meets him and his friends at the castle gates with a warm smile. She’s flanked by Clive and Mathilda, and Clair soundly breaches decorum as she bursts forward to give them all hugs.

And him? He’s just glad to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well uh thanks for reading this everyone?? I had fun writing this fic even if it didn't necessarily accomplish all my original grand plans, but that's what sequels and sidequels are for, yeah? I might write some of those some day. Thank you to everyone who's left me comments and who has supported this fic!


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